Sunday, 27 October 2013

Her Saving Grace, Chapters 1-3

Sample time! Here comes the book blurb.

Countess
Damaris Wellesley has suffered more loss in her 25 years than most people
suffer in a lifetime and to protect her shattered heart, has closed herself off
from Society and taken refuge in her books. When the remains of her long
missing father are discovered though, she is determined to see justice for him
and ventures out into the world once more.

As
Justice of the Peace, Nathaniel Copley views it as his duty to discover what
befell her late father but she is too wary of his intentions to help.

Thinking
him arrogant and superior, she flatly refuses to cooperate with his
investigation. Finding her behaviour to be impertinent and abrasive, he tries
to dismiss her from his thoughts.

It
doesn’t take Nathaniel long to realise that she is something special and worth
fighting for but even although she agrees to help him investigate, her heart
proves far harder to secure than her help.

*Links to buy at the end of post.

Chapter One

As Nathaniel
Copley surveyed the shallow grave before him, he had the distinct feeling that
solving this murder wasn’t going to be easy. Enough time had passed to reduce
the body to bone, which would make simply identifying it difficult and finding
witnesses to such an old crime, would be almost impossible.

“Dig the rest
of the remains up carefully and have them transported to Dr Worthington,” he
told Constable Smyth.

“Are you sure
that’s necessary?” Smyth asked. “It could just be that he had an accident and
wasn’t able to get help.”

Nathaniel did
his best not to sigh. Smyth was a good person but far from the brightest of
men, so Nathaniel wavered between firing the man and hiring someone who was at
least able to apply reason and logic to a situation, and not wanting to put him
out of work. As Justice of the Peace, it was within his remit to do so but
Smyth had been appointed by his predecessor and without this job, he and his
family would likely starve. He was getting on in years and unlikely to find
employment elsewhere.

“Then assuming
that it was an accident and not foul play, that rather begs the question, who
buried the body and why?” Nathaniel asked.

Smyth’s
cheeks coloured. “I’ll get the bones to Dr Worthington.”

Nathaniel had
brought two of his stable lads to help and the three of them began to dig
carefully around the remains. A sheet had been laid out beside the grave, upon
which the body, such as it was, could be placed.

“Good man.”
Nathaniel turned away and surveyed the scene. He knew that any evidence left at
the time of burial would be long gone but it couldn’t hurt to look and get a
feel for the scene.

They were in
a wooded area, on a slight incline and about one hundred yards away from the
road. Assuming that the buried man had been killed before being brought here,
the killer would have to be relatively fit to carry a dead weight such a
distance. The grave wasn’t very deep however, perhaps two to three feet, enough
to keep animals from scavenging the remains and accidental discovery, but
shallow enough to be uncovered by the uncommonly heavy spring rains.

So was the
grave digger perhaps not as fit as first assumed? The body could have been
brought up the hill on horseback and given the depth of the grave, whoever had
buried him would need to be reasonably robust in order to dig in the heavy clay
soil at all, but not as strong as a labourer. The stable lads he had brought
with him for example, could easily dig six feet of soil in an hour or two.
Constable Smyth on the other hand, was already breathing heavily.

Nathaniel made
his way up the hill but he was unable to see any reference points through the
trees. Still, if he wasn’t very much mistaken, this body was on Wallace
Sondham’s land.

Sondham was
new money, having made his fortune in trade and his estate was new, built perhaps
ten or fifteen years ago. The truth was that Nathaniel hadn’t had many dealings
with the man but just because the body had been discovered on his land, was no
reason by itself to suspect him of murder. He would have to be questioned of
course, but Nathaniel wanted to hear what the doctor had to say before he spoke
to anyone.

***

The journey
from Bellchester to Lanford took two days but it was worth it to Damaris
Wellesley. When the letter arrived by express, to say that a body had been
discovered, she had left immediately, compelled to discover if it was him.

She had been
waiting for news for the past seven years and the idea that she might be close
to finding out what had happened to her father, was making her rather agitated.

She felt bad
for wishing that the remains discovered belonged to her father but he simply
wasn’t the type to run away, as many had suggested, so she had always known in
her heart that he was dead, even if she didn’t want to believe it.

Finding his
body also meant that they had a chance to find his killer.

As soon as
she arrived in Lanford, she headed for the constable’s office in the town hall;
her companion and driver leaving her there at her insistence, while they
journeyed on to her childhood home.

She knocked
on Constable Smyth’s door but there was no reply, so she tried the door handle,
but it was locked.

“We had a
body show up a day or two ago, and Dr Worthington is trying to find out how he
died.”

“Do you know
when Smyth might be back?”

“Sorry,
Ma’am, but I don’t. You’re welcome to wait.”

Damaris
nodded. “Thank you, I think I will.”

So she headed
back to the foyer and took a seat on one of the bare, wooden benches, prepared
to wait for as long as was necessary.

***

Dr
Worthington was a rather fastidious man and while in general, Nathaniel found
that to be a good character trait, his assertion that the skeleton must be
slowly and gently removed from the soil that it had been shrouded in, had
annoyed Nathaniel somewhat, since it delayed any findings.

Layer by
layer, Worthington was removing the dirt, almost as gently as if the bones were
some kind of treasure, that might break if handled too roughly. Finally
however, Nathaniel had got him to promise that the remaining soil would be
removed by today and that, after he had seen to his patients, he should be able
to examine the bones.

The newspaper
had already printed a story about the gruesome find, albeit with very few
details, and a handful of people had come forward, believing the body may be a
friend or relative of theirs. At Nathaniel’s behest, Smyth had collected
details from each of them; age, height, general description, any jewellery they
might have been wearing when they disappeared, as well as what they were last
seen wearing, if known.

So far they
had sixteen missing people, eleven women and five men. Right now however, they
didn’t even know the sex of the victim. He had expected the list to be longer,
especially given that they didn’t know when the victim had died but in many
ways it was good, since it would make finding the identity of the victim,
easier.

When he and
Smyth arrived at Worthington’s office however, his nurse, a Mrs Hyde, informed
them that the doctor hadn’t returned from seeing a patient, so Nathaniel sent
Smyth back to his office. Most of the time the constable’s presence was just an
impediment to logic anyway, so Nathaniel wasn’t sorry to be able to send him
away.

The nurse
(cum housekeeper, since Mrs Worthington had died) made him tea and plied him
with cake, so he was in a relatively good mood when Dr Worthington returned.

Worthington
hung up his coat and without any pre-amble, showed Nathaniel through to the
front rooms of the house, where his surgery and workshop were.

As well as
being a healer, he considered himself something of a scientist and kept a room
where he could conduct experiments, although he was loathe to call it a
laboratory. That was also where he conducted autopsies (when necessary) and
wrote papers for various medical and scientific journals.

The skeleton
was laid out on a central table and beside that, another smaller table had been
placed, as well as a large dustbin, which was now full of dirt.

The body was
almost completely desiccated but looked not at all as Nathaniel had been taught
to think that bones should look; they weren’t chalk white, nor were they easy
to identify, many having small remnants of flesh still attached, and probably
some other organisms that Nathaniel couldn’t identify, such as moss or fungi.

“It’s a good
job that I sifted through the excess dirt, as a few of the smaller bones had
detached from the rest of the skeleton. I also found these items,” Dr
Worthington explained, gesturing to the small table.

Nathaniel
stepped up to the table and looked at the items that had been neatly laid out.
There were some scraps of cloth, what looked like a pair of misshapen and badly
damaged shoes, a leather bound notebook, a gold ring, a very small key and a
few coins.

“Most of the
clothes appear to have rotted away; I found only a few remnants, and not enough
to gauge the quality of the garments. The shoes fared better and appear to be
mostly intact, if rather damaged.”

“They look
like quality leather,” Nathaniel observed, picking one up and examining the
style and stitching.

“I agree.
This too.” The doctor pointed at a glove and Nathaniel picked it up.

“It looks
like a man’s.”

“Yes.”

“There’s
something embossed inside but I can’t make it out.”

“Neither
could I.”

“You didn’t
find a second one?” Nathaniel asked.

“No, I'm
sorry. It could still be at the site, or it could have fallen out during the
struggle, or while carrying him there.”

“Struggle?”
Nathaniel asked.

“Yes. I
haven’t had a chance to clean the bones but it’s seems obvious how this man
died.”

“So it is a
man?”

“Indeed.”

“Without
flesh on the bones, how can you tell?”

“Measurements.”

“Couldn’t it
be a tall woman?”

“No,” Dr
Worthington smiled. “Even a tall woman can’t hide the size of her pubic bone,
which is wider than a man’s to accommodate childbirth. This specimen is
definitely not built for that.”

Nathaniel was
impressed.

Worthington
went to the head of the table and picked up the skull. “If you look here, you
can see that he took quite a blow to the head, and didn’t remain alive long
enough for the bone to heal, so there was definitely a struggle of some kind.”

“Couldn’t he
have fallen down the stairs, or tripped and hit his head on something?”

“Possible but
unlikely. There are no other breaks consistent with a fall, and the blow is to
the back of the head, on the crown.”

“As if
something struck him from above?”

“Exactly.”

“Is that what
killed him?”

“It’s too
soon to say for certain; I need to clean the bones and examine the rest of the
skeleton, but it certainly wouldn’t surprise me if an injury like this killed
him. It takes quite some force to crack a skull.”

Nathaniel bent
over to better see the skull and had to admit that it must have taken quite a
blow to create the spider’s web-like cracks on the bone.

“Given the
grave, I was leaning towards this being pre-meditated but is there any chance
it could have been accidental?” Nathaniel asked.

“A clout like
that is hardly an accident.”

“No, but
death might not have been the intention. It could have been a brawl that ended
badly?”

“I hardly
think that a man with those shoes, not to mention the gold ring, is the type to
be brawling.”

“In my
experience, temper can get the better of everyone.”

Dr
Worthington shrugged but didn’t argue. “The fact is, even if I can tell you
definitively what killed him, we may never know how he died. I do admire you
for keeping an open mind however.”

Nathaniel
smiled, pleased with the other man’s praise. He had a great deal of respect for
the doctor.

“He was
obviously married.” Nathaniel picked up the gold ring from the small table and
got his handkerchief out to polish it up, then held it up to the light to
examine it. “There’s something engraved inside the band… 1794. The wedding
date, perhaps?”

“Quite
probably.”

“Is there
anything else you can tell me?”

“Some. He is
definitely European and while I can’t be exact on height or age until I’ve
examined the bones more closely, I can give you brackets to work within for the
time being.”

He handed
Nathaniel a sheet of paper and as he looked over it, he could see that if the
victim was among the five missing men on their list, this would definitely help
narrow down which of them this might be.

“Thank you,
Doctor.”

“Oh, think
nothing of it, Lord Copley.”

“Please,
there’s no need to stand on ceremony, not when you’ve known me since I was a
boy. Nathaniel or Nate is fine.”

“As you
wish.” Dr Worthington smiled.

“Do you know
when you might have a chance to examine the body in more detail?”

“I shall
start cleaning and bleaching the bones now. If you come back tomorrow, I should
have a lot more to tell you.”

“Thank you,
Doctor.”

***

Smyth rolled
his eyes as the the clerk in reception explained who the lady waiting was, but
Damaris strengthened her resolve as she got up and approached him.

“Lady
Wellesley, it’s very nice to meet you.”

She knew from
his exasperated expression that he was lying. “I presume you can guess why I’m
here?”

“Of course
but please, I don’t have time for this today.”

“But you have
discovered a body, have you not?”

“Yes, Ma’am,
we have, but your father isn’t missing, he’s in the Americas.”

“And my
detectives have already proven that he didn’t take that journey. Someone else
did, in his name.”

“You were
paying them, Ma’am, so they told you what you wanted to hear. We found the
receipt in his study and confirmed that the ticket was used.”

Although she
knew that she shouldn’t expect anything more from Smyth, his outright dismissal
still upset her. They had a body now, something tangible that she could point
to and prove that her father hadn’t run away, but he wouldn’t even look into
the possibility.

She knew that
she was wasting her time here and with a sad farewell, she left. Just because
Smyth wasn’t going to help her, didn’t mean that she was giving up.

***

“Ma’am,
please, I'm begging you, don’t do this.”

Damaris
turned to her lady’s maid, cum companion.

“Lilly, I
have to do this, I must know if this is my father.”

“I know
you’ve been waiting forever, but this isn’t the way.”

“I’ve tried
the right way but the authorities aren’t interested. Besides, it’s not as if I
will be doing any harm.”

“Why not
employ some detectives again?”

“Because as
much as it pains me, Smyth might be right about them, or some of them; they
tell me what I want to hear, or will give me false hope so that I keep paying
them. No, Lilly, it is best if I do this myself.”

“Well, you
shouldn’t go out wearing those clothes either, Ma’am, what if someone sees
you?”

“No one will
see me, it is far too late for that and even if they do, they won’t recognise
me.”

“But-”

“That is
enough!” she said sharply.

She didn’t
like to snap at Lilly after all; the woman was more than just her lady’s maid,
she was more like a mother to her. She had begun her career in the family as a
governess to Damaris’ older brothers but while they went away to school at 11,
Lilly taught Damaris until she was 15. When it became clear that there would be
no more children forthcoming, Damaris had begged her father to keep the woman
on, and she had been employed as Damaris’ companion.

Upon Damaris’
engagement, she had trained as a lady’s maid, since a wife does not need a
companion but now that Damaris was a widow, Lilly resumed both roles. Damaris
wasn’t much for socialising these days however, and her wardrobe needed less
care than many ladies, so Lilly still had time to act as companion on the few
occasions when it was needed.

Lilly had
once had a family of her own, but her husband and three children had all
perished in the Great Lanford fire, some twenty odd years ago.

Despite the
age difference, and while Lilly was lower middle class and Damaris an aristocrat,
they were good friends. Damaris was technically Lilly’s employer however, and
so, the older woman had little choice but to defer to her on occasion, despite
her sometimes grievous misgivings.

“Very well,
Ma’am, just be careful, please?”

“I will, I
promise.”

Damaris
turned to the mirror and examined her outfit. She wore black trousers, shirt
and scarf, and black work boots, of the type a servant girl would wear. She had
pinned her hair up under a flat cap and to give her feminine figure more bulk,
she added a black greatcoat to the ensemble.

She headed
out of the family home through the front entrance and true to her prediction,
the streets were empty.

Chapter Two

Dr
Worthington’s surgery had a small painted sign out the front, so she was
certain that she had the right place. She tried the door but it was locked and
while she had the tools to pick it, it was time consuming so she went around to
the back, where fortune favoured her with an ajar casement window. She unhooked
the stay, pulled it wide and climbed through.

The second
door that she tried proved to be the one she wanted and she was almost overcome
when she saw the bones on the table, the pale moonlight reflecting off the
remains.

She closed
her eyes, strengthened her resolve and entered the room, closing the door
behind her.

As expected,
there were oil lamps in here so she took a taper, ignited it from the dying
fire and used it to light one of the lamps. Then she turned the handle which
pulled the wick up, creating a larger and brighter flame.

The bones
appeared to have been boiled in baking soda already, which had removed all the
flesh, but they had not yet been bleached.

She headed
for the desk and began to rifle through the papers she found there. One pile
seemed to be devoted to living patients, while the other, much smaller pile,
documented the doctor’s findings on the bones and what procedures he had
performed on them.

194 bones had
been discovered, meaning that twelve were missing and the good doctor had
listed them. Damaris felt that they were inconsequential bones, such as the
phalanx bones of the hands and feet, and two carpal bones from the left wrist,
which were small and unlikely to hold any clues or evidence related to the
death. The doctor posited that they had been washed away by the recent flooding
which had revealed the bones, and Damaris had to agree that it was a very real
possibility.

The skeleton
was male and the estimated height of the victim was 5’6” to 5’11”, aged
approximately 40-60. The notes said that those details would be refined once
the bones were cleaned.

The next
entry detailed the skull fracture; to the temporal bone, just above the
superior temporal line, had been broken with a long, straight instrument,
approximately two inches in diameter.

Worthington
then went on to detail how he had removed the remaining flesh (with baking
soda) and his intention to bleach the bones further.

Despite her
unease, Damaris picked up a magnifying glass and approached the table, where
the remains lay. They were roughly laid in their correct anatomical positions
and bringing the lamp close, she could see more detail. She could clearly see
where the skull had been fractured and she was almost overcome with grief again.

Still, the
details that she had weren’t enough to prove that it was him, so she moved onto
the rest of the bones, painstakingly looking at each one. She noticed that the
hyoid bone had been snapped in two and wondered how that was related to the
head injury.

As far as she
could remember (and that was usually very well) the hyoid was a hard bone to
break, due to its position in the neck. Just about the only thing that could
break it was strangulation from the front, where the attacker’s thumbs would
press on the bone, snapping it.

Was he
bludgeoned and strangled? Why use two different methods to subdue him?

She set those
thoughts aside for now, knowing that she had to make haste. She wasn’t exactly
sure what she was looking for but when she examined the right leg, she knew
that she had found her proof. She continued to examine the remaining bones,
making her way up the left side of the body, just in case she found something
else pertinent but before she had made it past the left knee, a scrape outside
the door alerted her to the fact that someone was coming.

The lamp must
have given her away, she realised, either to someone on the street, or the good
doctor, who might have seen the light emanating from under the door.

She blew out
the oil lamp and placed it on a table as she ran to the windows, but she hadn’t
placed it well enough and the lamp fell, the fount and glass chimney shattering
as they hit the tiled floor.

She didn’t
dare turn to look and as she climbed up onto the bench table by the window and
undid the latch, the door burst open, clattering against the wall.

“You there,
halt!”

She didn’t,
instead she flung the window wide and scrambled through. For one heart stopping
moment, she thought that she had been grabbed, but she jumped anyway and the
tension gave way as her coat tore, having only been caught on the latch stay.
She landed awkwardly on her left side, her shoulder jarring painfully. Her hat
came loose but she crammed it back on even as she got up to run.

She ran to
the end of the street, then slowed to a walk so as not to appear suspicious.
She kept her head down as she walked and with each step, she expected to hear
the sound of a whistle but to her eternal gratitude, none came. She made it
back to the house, entering through the servants’ entrance at the rear. She
didn’t need to worry too much about waking the staff; the driver was sleeping
over the stable, the caretaker and his wife were elderly and sound sleepers,
and Lilly already knew that her mistress was up to no good.

The caretaker
and housekeeper were the only full time employees at this house, since no one
lived here anymore. Maintaining and cleaning the house were their only duties
usually, but the housekeeper could stretch to cooking simple meals for
visitors.

The townhouse
was a decent size for a professional family but not massive, as some were. As
such, and with dust sheets protecting the surfaces and furniture in most rooms,
it didn’t need an awful lot of day to day upkeep.

Damaris made
her way to the main staircase, since it was carpeted and would be quieter, and
she wasn’t at all surprised to realise that Lilly was sitting by her fireplace,
dressed in her nightgown and clearly agitated. She jumped as her mistress
entered.

“Oh, thank
the Lord, you’re all right.” She let out a long breath.

“I’m fine,”
Damaris assured the other woman. She didn’t mention the pain in her shoulder
from falling from the window. “Now go to bed; it’s gone two in the morning and
we have had a long journey.”

Lilly nodded
and got to her feet. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I think so,”
she said, her voice filling with emotion. “It’s him.”

“Oh, my
dear.” She took her employer in her arms and held her as Damaris finally began
to cry. “There there,” she crooned. “It will be all right.”

“No, it
won’t.”

“But it’s
better to have an answer, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it
is.” Damaris pulled away and wiped at her eyes. “I thought that knowing would
be a relief but…”

“Hush, this
is only natural, child. These things take time, as well you know.”

Damaris
nodded and did her best to reign in her emotions. “Thank you, now go to bed.”

Lilly gave
her a gentle smile. “I will, if you will also.”

“I will,
Lilly, I’ll change now.”

“Very well.
Good night.”

Damaris went
into her dressing room, where Lilly had laid out her things, and changed into
her nightshirt. She sat at her dressing table to brush out her hair and Lilly
came in, as suspected, to check that she was preparing for bed.

“Good night
again, love. Come and wake me if you need to.”

Damaris smiled,
as memories of Lilly saying this very thing to her when she was a child
surfaced. “Thank you, Lilly.”

She left but
Damaris continued brushing her hair, giving it 100 strokes, to be sure that the
other woman wouldn’t return. When she didn’t, Damaris made her way downstairs
and into her father’s study, where she began composing a letter, which she
would ask to be delivered to Dr Worthington first thing in the morning.

***

“Nathaniel,
come in, come in,” the Doctor said, and stepped back from the door to allow the
other man to enter.

“Good day.”
The elderly gentleman there said. The quality of his clothes indicated that he
was in service but he kept them in pristine condition. “Is one of you Doctor
Worthington?”

“I am.”

“I have a
message for you.” He handed the letter to the doctor.

Worthington
reached into his pocket for a tip but the man held his hands up. “I'm not a
messenger, Sir, simply doing an errand on behalf of my employer. No payment is
necessary.”

The accent
was refined, Nathaniel noticed. If he had to bet money, he would say that this
man was a butler, only he was too old and hunched in the back to be a butler
any longer.

“Good day, Sirs.”
He tipped his hat and turned to leave.

Worthington
closed the door and broke the seal on the letter, frowning as he began to read.

“What has you
so interested?”

Worthington
glanced at the second page, then handed the letter over.

Dear Doctor
Worthington,

I apologise
for writing to you in this fashion but the local constable refuses to believe
that this man could be my father. In fact, he doesn’t even believe that my
father is missing.

However, I
know that he would never willingly leave his family and I strongly believe that
it is his body that was discovered.

My father’s
name was Charles Howard, he was a respected lawyer who worked for the War
Office, and he disappeared in April 1814. He was 5’10” inches tall, of stout
but not overly large build, and had grey and white hair.

I realise
that neither this description, nor the sketch of him that I have enclosed, will
help you discover if the remains that you have, belonged to my father, but it
might help you to know that my father had a few distinguishing marks.

A scar over
his left temple that went into the hairline.

He was burned
on the back of his right hand as a child and as well as scarring, the
surrounding tissue is puckered.

There is a
brown mole on his neck, under his left ear, perhaps a quarter of an inch in
diameter.

Finally, he
suffered a bad fall from horseback when I was a child. He fractured his right
leg and although the limb was saved and splinted, it never healed properly and
he suffered pain for the rest of his life.

I do hope
that this information helps you identify the remains you have.

Fondest
regards,

Damaris
Wellesley,

Dowager
Countess of Bellchester

Nathaniel
wondered who this Damaris character was. He remembered Charles Howard who,
although not titled, was from an aristocratic family. As the fifth son, there
wasn’t much wealth for him to inherit, especially as the eldest son would
inherit the title and lands. As such, he had trained as a lawyer and worked for
much of the year in London. He didn’t earn a fortune but he earned enough to
keep his family in good circumstances, and his aristocratic ancestry ensured
that he was still accepted in society.

It was unfair
that the first son inherited everything, while younger sons were left to felt
mostly for themselves. As such, High Society was always ready and willing to
help such a man, especially one who did his best to help himself.

Nathaniel had
met Mr Howard a few times, but he could not recall meeting his daughter.

“Shall we
have a look?” he asked Worthington.

“I thought
you’d never ask,” the Doctor smiled.

The skin
blemishes the letter writer had pointed out were useless, as so little skin had
been left but the right leg did indeed show signs of a healed break. The bone
was slightly thicker where it had mended and no longer straight, but very
slightly angled outwards below the break.

“Looks to me
like he used his leg before it healed,” Worthington explained. “The pain would
have caused him to walk with an uneven gait, perhaps like this.” He
demonstrated, walking a few paces while holding his right leg to the side.
“Under the constant pressure of walking, even with a splint, the healing bone
was pushed outwards and finally healed that way. No wonder he suffered pain.”

“So you
believe this is Charles Howard then?”

“I would like
another piece of evidence before declaring that but yes, I think it’s highly
likely that this is he.”

Nathaniel
picked up the wedding band. “Smyth is collecting all the marriage records from
1794 and if Mr Howard is among them, I think that we can safely say that we
have identified him.”

Worthington
nodded. “Now I need to bleach the bones in order to properly examine them under
a magnifying glass.”

“How long
will that take?”

“Oh, a few
hours, I’ll leave them to soak while I see my patients. If you come around this
afternoon, I should know more.”

“Thank you,
Doctor.”

***

Nathaniel
unlocked Smyth’s office at the town hall, and quickly found the missing person
reports. The women who had been reported missing had already been removed from
the pile and Charles Howard wasn’t among the remaining five men.

Instead
Nathaniel went to the filing cabinets, hoping to find a file on Charles Howard.
The records weren’t kept alphabetically however, but according to the date that
a crime was reported.

Nathaniel
pulled the letter from his pocket and as he thought, the writer had given the
date of her father’s disappearance; April 1814.

He quickly
discovered the drawer for 1814 and after a little hunting, found a file marked
‘C Howard’. He pulled it out and sat at Smyth’s desk to peruse its contents.

There was
hardly anything in the file. The first page was the report, made by the wife
and daughter. It contained few details but it did say that the last time the
family had seen Mr Howard, was when he ventured to London on horseback for
business. When he did not return at the end of the week, they became worried.

The next page
revealed that Smyth had searched Howard’s study, and found a ticket receipt for
a journey booked on a cargo ship to the Americas; the receipt was included in
the file. The next item was a letter from the ship’s owner, dated thirteen
months after Mr Howard had gone missing.

The owner
seemed to be replying to Smyth and informed him that after speaking with the
captain, he could confirm that a gentleman by the name of Charles Howard had
indeed sailed on their cargo ship.

Given that he
was fairly sure that the body they had found was Mr Howard, he would be willing
to bet that whoever sailed to the Americas gave a false name. Smyth should have
looked deeper; at least got a description of the person who sailed, if nothing
else.

Nathaniel
closed the file and paced the length of the office as he waited for Smyth to
return with the marriage records, pondering the case.

If Charles
was last seen journeying to London, then how did he end up buried in Lanford?
Either he never made it to London, or was waylaid on his journey back.
Nathaniel would contact his employers in London to discover which was the case,
and it irked him that Smyth hadn’t already done so.

London was
only twenty or so miles south, a two hour ride on one of his faster horses, so
he could probably be back by nightfall.

Then again,
Smyth could be hours checking the records and he needed to confirm that this
was Charles Howard before he went dashing off to London. Turning back to the
file, he noted Mr Howard’s address and made his way there.

***

Mr Howard had
a large townhouse near the centre of Lanford but it was far from the largest.
Obviously he was well to do but not rich. He knocked on the front door and it
was opened by the elderly gentleman who had delivered the letter that morning.

“Can I help
you, Sir?”

“I’m Lord
Copley, and I’m looking for Mrs Howard or Lady Wellesley.”

“Mrs Howard
now resides with her eldest son in France, Sir, but Lady Wellesley is in
residence.”

“Might I see
her?”

The butler
opened the door further and Nathaniel stepped inside.

“Wait here,
Sir.”

He shuffled
off up the stairs and Nathaniel took the chance to look around.

The house was
well cared for but it appeared that it was not very well lived in. No coats
hung on the rack, no calling cards lay on the tray, no flowers graced any
surface and the sounds of life that one would expect in a house of this size,
were absent.

The man
appeared at the top if the stairs but out of respect for his age, Nathaniel
held his hand up to stop him. “I’ll come to you,” he said, making his way up
the stairs.

The butler
nodded and once he had reached the landing, led Nathaniel into a parlour.

“Lord Copley,
the Marquess of Lanford, Ma’am,” he announced to the room’s occupant.

Nathaniel
hadn’t realised that the butler knew who he was but being recognised wasn’t
unexpected.

As he entered
the room, the most beautiful young lady he had ever seen got to her feet and
curtseyed to him. “Lord Copley, I'm very pleased to meet you.”

She had hair
as black as coal and despite the severe bun that she had pulled it into,
strands had escaped around her face, softening her look and framing her face.
Her skin was almost porcelain white and she might have looked unhealthy, were
it not for the rosy hue of her cheeks.

Her cerulean
blue eyes were also framed by thick black lashes, highlighting their
loveliness, and her full lips were a healthy shade of pink, slightly darker
than her cheeks.

“And I you,
Lady Wellesley.” He bowed.

“Please, sit
down.” She gestured to an armchair opposite her own and he sat down, facing
her.

“Would you
like some tea, Ma’am,” the butler asked.

“Thank you,
but don’t put Mrs Higgins out on our account.”

“Very good.”
He bowed and left.

Nathaniel
thought that it was odd that she hadn’t asked him if he wanted refreshments.

“My
apologies, but there are only two members of staff in this house at present,
Sir, and I try not to put them out too much.”

“No one lives
here?”

“Only the
housekeeper and caretaker.”

“That seems
an unusual arrangement.”

“Well, it was
my parent’s house and without my father around, my mother didn’t wish to live
here any longer.”

“Why haven’t your
brothers sold it?”

“Because they
haven’t inherited it.”

He realised
that with Charles Howard thought to be missing rather than dead, the estate
would be in limbo.

“So your
brothers keep a caretaker on staff to care for the property?”

“No, I do.”

He seemed
taken aback by that.

“My eldest
brother married a French woman and lives there, my mother with them. My
youngest brother studied medicine at the Royal College of Physicians in
Edinburgh, and has remained there. Neither boy was very close to our father.”

“But you
were?”

She gave him
a tight smile. “Forgive me, Lord Copley, but you are hardly here for my family
history. How can I help you?”

“I would like
to ask you a few questions, if I may.”

“Very well.”
She appeared curious and perhaps slightly amused.

“You are
Damaris Wellesley and the daughter of Charles Howard, correct?”

“I am.”

“I was
wondering, what year were your parents married?”

“1794.”

He nodded
sadly. “Then I’m afraid that I have some very troubling news for you, Lady
Wellesley.”

She sighed
but didn’t reply; her gaze turned towards a portrait above the fireplace, of a
couple and three children. The smallest child looked remarkably like Damaris
and he realised that it was a family portrait.

“This must be
very distressing for you,” he tried to sympathise.

“Actually,
it’s almost a relief.”

He frowned.
“Excuse me?”

She turned to
look at him. “For years I have been trying to convince the local constable that
my father met with foul play, but he insisted that he had simply run away and
abandoned his family. Now at least, I might find some answers.”

“Might I ask
you some questions about your father?”

Now she
frowned slightly. “Forgive me, Lord Copley, but what exactly is your interest
in my father’s murder?”

“I am the
Justice of the Peace in these parts.”

“I see, but
isn’t your job to bind criminals over for trial, not to investigate the
crimes.”

“That is true
but as you have no doubt concluded for yourself, Constable Smyth is not always
proficient at his job.”

“Then why
don’t you appoint someone else?”

“Because he
is getting on in years and while not an ideal candidate for a constable,
serious crimes are quite rare in these parts, and he is able to handle the day
to day matters.”

“If that were
so, he would have investigated my father’s disappearance years ago. Now, thanks
to his dereliction of duty, it could prove a great deal harder to discover what
happened. People forget things so easily, and some witnesses may even have died
since then.”

“You sound as
if you speak from experience.”

Her features
took on a haunted air. “Perhaps I do.”

She didn’t
seem willing to go into further details so he didn’t press the matter. He got a
small notebook and pencil out.

“I read the
letter that you sent to the doctor; thank you for taking the time and trouble.”

“It was no
trouble,” she assured him.

“I was hoping
that you could provide me with details of your father’s job in London; his
employers and the address of his offices, perhaps?”

“I know what
you’re thinking,” she answered. “He left home on Sunday the 10th of April, but
he never made it to London.”

“How can you
know that?”

“I wrote to
his friends and colleagues at the War Office; they told me. He kept rooms in
London at his club but although they were expecting him, he never arrived that
evening. Somewhere between here and London, he was waylaid although now, it
would seem that he didn’t make it very far from home at all.”

“Might I have
the address of his workplace and the names of the friends you wrote to?”

“You don’t
trust my information?” she asked, her voice cool.

“Not at all,
I simply want to make sure that I have everything correct.”

“Then tell
me, Lord Copley, how did my father die?”

“He was
struck on the head.”

She regarded
him with a cool eye for a moment and he wondered exactly what he had said that
had upset her, then she abruptly got to her feet and went to a small, leather
bound trunk, which was sitting on an ornamental table. She unlocked it and
rifled the contents for a moment, until she returned with a list, which she
handed to him before she sat down.

He looked it
over and it quickly became apparent that it was a list of names. Most names had
a tick beside them but a few didn’t.

“Who are
these people?”

“My father’s
friends, colleagues and acquaintances. Those with a tick are ones I have been
able to talk to or correspond with. Those without, I have been unable to
contact.”

“Might I see
the letters that they sent you?”

She regarded
him again for a moment and he wondered at her aloof attitude.

“I think
not.”

“Might I ask
why?”

“Because I
don’t believe that you will pay attention to their content; you will think that
they lied to me to appease my anxieties, or because they don’t believe that a
woman can handle certain information. At the moment, I am far from certain that
you are any more efficient than Constable Smyth and until I can be sure of you,
I believe it might be better to leave you to draw your own conclusions.”

“Have I said
something to upset you?”

“Whatever
gave you that impression,” she asked sweetly, with a smile that didn’t reach
her eyes.

“Please, Lady
Wellesley, I just want to find out who killed your father.”

“And I wish
you luck with that.”

Now he was
starting to become irritable. “Might I speak with your husband?”

Her sweet
smile widened. “But of course.”

She made no
move to summon him and Nathaniel sat forward. “Is he home?”

“He is always
home, my Lord.”

“Then where
might I find him?” he snapped, getting to his feet. He looked down at her,
hoping to intimidate her with his height. It didn’t appear to work.

“Wellesley
Hall, just outside of Bellchester.”

“He didn’t
come with you?”

“I told you,
he is always at home these days, and this is not our home. If you really need
to speak with him, you will find him in the family crypt, near the estate
church. I’m sure you won’t need to make an appointment, he doesn’t venture very
far from his grave.”

“Oh, I- I’m
terribly sorry.”

“Yes, I dare
say the fact that you can't call on my husband to bring me to heel, does make
you sorry but in any event, he was never a very authoritarian sort of man, at
least not with his family.” She got to her feet and smoothed her skirts. “Good
day, Lord Copley, I trust that you can see yourself out.”

She left the
room and Nathaniel watched until she was out of sight, wondering just what he
had done to offend her. No doubt she wasn’t happy that she (and her father’s
disappearance) had been ignored for six years, but that was hardly his fault.
Of course, she might not have liked his defence of Smyth either but what he
said was true, the man could handle the day to day duties of his job.

She had given
him a list of names as a starting point and, much as she had suggested, he was
certain that these people would be much more forthcoming with him than they had
been with Charles Howard’s daughter. Men were usually more open with their own
sex, much as women preferred the company of other females.

Still, he was
curious about what she had learned and he looked to the leather chest she had
gone into earlier. What he wanted to know was probably in that box. It was
probably locked but he felt that he could easily carry it with him, although he
doubted that he would be allowed to take it. He approached and tried the catch,
only to find it was locked.

A cough from
behind him made him turn and he blushed at having been caught.

“This way,
Sir,” the butler said, his voice so disapproving that he only just managed to
sound polite.

“Of course.”
He followed the elderly man downstairs but it was only once he was out on the
street, that he realised how surreal that whole encounter had been.

***

Damaris was
seething. How dare that jumped up want-to-be detective come in here and act as
if he were entitled to her help!

She might
have been inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, had it not been for
the fact that her father had been strangled, not killed by the blow to the
head. But of course, the broken skull was obvious, whereas the tiny hyoid bone
was subtle and easy to miss. The problem was, she didn’t want a detective who
looked only for the easy answers, she wanted someone who would dig until they
had the truth.

Which meant
that she had little choice but to do the investigating herself. She had already
made a good start over the past few years but now that she knew her father was
dead, people might be more forthcoming with her. And if they weren’t, well, she
would do whatever it took to find her father’s killer.

Chapter Three

Horse Guards
was a large Palladian style building in Whitehall, and home to the War Office.
At the front desk, Nathaniel was directed to the Department of the Secretary,
and then to the Judge Advocate General’s office, who handled courts-martial.

Since he had
been a barrister, it seemed fitting that Charles Howard had worked here. The
Judge Advocate General, Sir John Beckett wasn’t available to see him, which
wasn’t surprising and by Nathaniel’s reckoning, he had been appointed three
years after Charles Howard had disappeared anyway, so was unlikely to be of any
help.

Instead, he
was directed to a meeting room and told to wait, which he did for perhaps ten
minutes, until a gentleman entered. He was middle aged, smartly dressed and had
a slightly harassed air about him.

“Lord
Copley?” he asked.

“Indeed.”
Nathaniel got to his feet and shook hands with the gentleman.

“I'm Peter
Jennings. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not a
problem, Sir.”

“I understand
that you’re here to talk about Charles Howard?”

“I am and I'm
sorry to say, I have some regrettable news.”

They both
took a seat at the table.

“He’s dead,”
Jennings stated rather than asked.

“Yes. How did
you know?”

“Charles was
a responsible man; even supposing that he did run away with a mistress, he
would not have simply walked away from his position here. When I read about the
remains being discovered near his home… well, I put two and two together,
although I am sorry to have been proved correct.”

“How well did
you know Mr Howard?”

“We were
friends; I kept rooms in the same club, but our families didn’t often socialise
together.”

“Oh?”

“It’s nothing
sinister.” He smiled. “Charles’ family home was in Lanford, whilst mine is in
Northumberland.”

“And you
commute to London?”

“Yes.”

“Does that
not get tiresome?”

“It does,” he
agreed. “Being so close, Charles returned home each weekend, but it would take
me all weekend to get home, then I’d just have to turn around and come straight
back.”

“Quite. Would
it not be easier to keep a home in London?”

“Probably,
but my wife dislikes Town and prefers to be close to her family. I return home
for a few weeks every few months, and the arrangement works well for us.”

Given his eagerness
to begin the investigation, Nathaniel now found himself quite stumped as to how
to proceed.

“So, are you
another one of Lady Wellesley’s detectives?” Jennings asked.

“Not quite,
although I am looking into her father’s death. I'm the new Justice of the Peace
for Lanford.”

“Well, I
can't tell you anything that I haven’t already told her, and her detectives.”

“Since you
were friends with the deceased, I was wondering if you could tell me what kind
of man he was?”

“I suppose.
Well, he was born to an Earl but he didn’t inherit title or lands. He chose law
as his profession and studied hard. He met and married his wife for her
connections but it wasn’t a love match.

“And what of
his personality?”

“Responsible,
bound by duty; he took his work very seriously, perhaps too seriously at
times-”

“You don’t
think his death could have had something to do with his work?”

“No.”
Jennings looked amused. “For obvious reasons, I can't go into details about our
work here but suffice to say, most of it is administrative.”

“How did he come to work for the War Office?”

“Through the
Duke of Wellington.”

“Are they
related?”

“Well they
weren’t but they are now, in a roundabout sort of way.”

“Of course,
Wellesley is the family name.”

“Quite right.
Damaris’ husband was William Wellesley, Earl of Bellchester and a cousin to the
Duke of Wellington. Charles arranged the match for her. Unfortunately they
hadn’t been married for a year when her father disappeared, then her husband
was killed a year later, at the Battle of Waterloo.”

“Did they
have any children?”

“The war kept
him away a lot but they did manage to have one child, and another on the way.
The news of his death hit her hard however; she lost the baby, and the elder
child died not long after.”

“How awful.”

“Yes, the
poor girl certainly has faced more than her share of tragedy.”

“And how did
the child…?”

“The whooping
cough; terrible shame.”

“Is someone
taking care of her?”

“Oh, her
husband saw to that. When his young son died, the title passed to Wellesley’s
brother, of course, but almost the entirety of her husband’s estate was
bequeathed to Damaris and her children but obviously now, she is his sole
heir.”

“So much
heartache for one so young.”

“She’s a
strong girl but you’re right, it is a terrible shame.”

“After such
tragedy, I’m surprised she didn’t go to live with a family member.”

“I wish I
could say that I was, but the relationships in that family were always odd.”

“How so?”

“Charles and
his wife gave the impression of being in competition, and part of that was that
she favoured the boys, while he favoured Damaris. They pitted the children
against the other parent, and each other at times, hence she was only close to
her father. She has reconciled somewhat with the younger brother but he resides
in Edinburgh; not exactly within easy travelling distance.”

“So that’s
why the sons don’t look after Howards’ house.”

“Exactly. Her
father’s family offered to take her in but she declined. She still writes to me
occasionally, mostly at Christmas time, and seems to enjoy living alone.”

“Whatever
does she do with herself?” Nathaniel didn’t think she was the type to spend her
days sewing samplers.

“I believe
she has discovered a fascination with science and spends a lot of time reading
about it. I think she even does a few experiments.”

That seemed
like an odd hobby for a woman but he supposed that something like botany would
interest a lady and whilst unusual, it was harmless.

“Forgive me,
Lord Copley, but you appear to have more interest in Lady Wellesley than her
father.”

Nathaniel
blushed a little.

“Oh, don’t be
embarrassed, if I were a few years younger, and single of course, I might very
well feel the same but you seem like a nice fellow, so I hope you won’t take
offence when I offer you some friendly advice. Don’t set your hat at Damaris;
you will be disappointed if you do.”

Nathaniel was
surprised by the sinking sensation he felt, almost as if he were falling, but
he swallowed his disconcertion down and said, “You sound very… certain about
that.”

“She is beautiful,
respectable, childless and rich; what man wouldn’t want her as his wife, even
if she is a widow and at a rather advanced age? Many have tried to get her
attention over the years but she shows no interest.”

“Is she still
grieving?”

“Some believe
so.”

“Did she
really love her husband, then? It sounds as if they didn’t see each other very
much.”

“It was the
war that kept him away, not distaste. That’s also the reason William’s family
wanted him to marry, so that he would have an heir if the worst happened. As
for love?” Jennings shrugged. “She cared very deeply for William, I know that,
and she respected him but love? Perhaps the love one has for a good friend or
sibling, but not romantic love.”

“And what do
you believe, about her still grieving?”

“I haven’t
set eyes on Damaris since her wedding day so I cannot say for certain, although
I feel I know her through my friendship with her father. Personally, I think
that she has simply closed herself off from the world at large, to save herself
any future pain.”

“I can
certainly understand that,” he agreed, and found himself willing to forgive her
sharp words earlier. “Back to the real reason I'm here, is there anything you
can tell me about Charles that you haven’t told anyone else, perhaps to spare
Lady Wellesley’s blushes?”

“I didn’t
tell her about her father’s mistress in the beginning, for precisely the reason
you state, but her husband had hired detectives and one of them discovered
Marissa’s identity. When I realised the game was up, I wrote back telling her
all I could remember.”

“That must
have been hard for her to hear.”

Peter
Jennings smiled. “Hardly. She wrote back expressing her thanks, said that she
was pleased to know that her father had found a woman who loved him.”

Nathaniel
thought about that and realised that, given the adversarial relationship her
parents had, as well as being her father’s favourite, perhaps her opinion would
be different to that of most women.

“However you
conduct this investigation, Lord Copley, I would advise you not to
underestimate Damaris. She is not a typical, high-strung woman, prone to faint
at the mere discussion of blood. In many ways, she is as intelligent, brave and
stubborn as a man, and she won’t take kindly to being coddled.”

“Thank you,
for the advice and your help.”

“Not a problem,
dear boy. If there’s anything else I can help you with, please feel free to
contact me again.”

“I appreciate
that. If I could just ask one last thing?”

“Of course.”

“Is there
anyone else you would recommend that I talk to?”

“Your best
chance is to visit our gentleman’s club, he had a lot of friends there. I’ll
tell you what, if you can wait five minutes, I’ll write you a letter. Members
can bring a friend and while that friend going without me would be unusual,
given the circumstances and your family, I doubt that they will object.”

“Thank you
and if I may, do you know how I can contact his mistress?”

“Me? No.
Damaris however, is her new patroness.”

He was
stunned for a moment. “You mean to tell me that Lady Wellesley indulges in…
well, illicit acts with prostitutes?” He sounded outraged.

“No, my dear
boy, of course not, and for the record, Marissa was never a prostitute.”

“Then what
exactly do you mean by ‘patroness’?”

“That Damaris
pays for her lodgings and gives her pin money. Marissa no longer needs a
gentleman to take care of her, so she is free to find herself a husband, if she
so wishes.”

“And has
she?”

“Not to my
knowledge but equally, I haven’t heard of her taking another lover.”

“And would
you have been likely to hear?”

“London
Society is quite close knit, even more so amongst men, with our gentlemen’s
clubs and gambling dens. You must understand, Marissa was an exceptionally
handsome woman, and with a large heart. If someone had been lucky enough to
find themselves in her affections, I hardly think they would keep it to
themselves. As a rule, we gentlemen do like to brag about our conquests.”